Saturday, 21 August 2010

Ten made-up words to be used in a piece of writing

One interesting and amusing exercise that I've picked up from George Szirtes' wonderful blog is to quickly invent ten words and pass them on. The one who picks them up has then to make a readable text using the words. Shortly after midnight on my way to the Land of Nod I quickly jotted down ten such words, went to sleep, forgot about them. This morning I found them and passed them on to my self as it were. And so after a cup of strong coffee to get my brain working I wrote, in ten minutes or so, a piece of text that came easily into my mind. Here it is. See what you make of it.

THE PIGDEN EXPRESS

Lord Heinrich von Scrumble shook the last drops of plinkton from his noyder, examined the organ closely and then tucked it away gently. He quietly zipped-up his kasderoons, washed his hands, shook them under the cold air of the plosklash machine, flung open the door and strode boldly into the corridor. His progress was immediately arrested.

The man's grip on his elbow was firm. The strong voice said, "Sir, your ticket please." It was the masnerat.

19 comments:

In the far off town of Plinkton, deep in the noyder Kaderoons, a flenny masnerat sat in the bushes, feeling slightly loopig. In the nedglim light of his lantern, he watched plosklash creatures of the night zoom around above his head. He was wishing he was still at home with a flagon of yetamalt in front of him, and his piouz woman snuggled up at his side.

It tells us that we don't have to stick to only the tried and tested ones, provided the 'oddballs' are incorporated in an already accepted language format. I think you may have missed THIS earlier post of mine... Enjoy!

The silver plinkton glistened in the noyder as Terence Grimble added a few kashderoons to his plosklash.

“Damn,” said Grimble. “I forgot to bring my masnerat.”

“Don’t fret,” said his Marla, his flenny. She wiped her brow as the yetamalt reddened in the growing twilight. It will soon be loopig and you will forget all about your masnerat after we nedglim until pious

This actually happened during a recent performance of "The Tempest" - a famous play by some geezer called Spokeshave . . . well, something like that.

When Prospero couldnae hear ra prompt right. Right?

“Our piouz now are ended. These our actors As I foretold you, were all spirits and “Speak up, man!” into air, into thin air: And, like the nedglim noyder of this plinkton, The cloud-capp'd plosklash, the gorgeous kaderoons, The flenny temples, the great globe itself, “When this is over, prompt, I’ll whack you one!”And, like this insubstantial loopig faded, Leave not a yetamalt. We are such stuff As masnerat is, and that feckin’ promptIs clearly half asleep”

GW, what have you done? The seeds of the nomblywort plant are taking root all over Blogland! Did you realise, when you cultivated it, that this might be the result? Why, I even found a seedling in my soup!

Hahaha, you are all very clever. "So, here now is the point: What does an exercise like this tell us about words?" asked the Poet in Residence. I tell you what it told me. Spelling is difficult. I have never seen so many versions of the word kaderoons, kashderoons, kasderoons ;-)

Hi Carolina, maybe this tells us that Blogger's ABC spell-checker is now defunct :) sore what is spelling anyway - there's a strang way of spelling 'fish' which begins with ph... but I just can't rewind it at the monument. We shem toby al mo sin Finnegans Wake territorium ear and dare as high seas hit.

Thanks rwp. It's really amazing though, only a few minutes ago somebody doing a crossword puzzle asked me for the name of an Irish poet with 4 letters beginning with S and ending with W. Coincidence, or what?Much obliged to you.